


In Which Lassiter’s Heart Grows Three Sizes

by misato



Category: Psych
Genre: Banter, Christmas Fluff, Christmas Party, Drinking, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Humor, I think I'm funny, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-01-13
Packaged: 2019-10-09 08:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17403836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misato/pseuds/misato
Summary: “Shawn,” he hissed. “Shh. You’re drunk.”“And I saw your Grindr profile,” Shawn argued, and then a distracted smile melted onto his face. “You called me Shawn.”“What? I don’t have a--”“The powers that be call bullshit. I’d recognize that chest hair anywhere.”





	In Which Lassiter’s Heart Grows Three Sizes

“Excuse me, Lassie,” Shawn Spencer said, draping himself unprofessionally over Carlton’s desk. “Do you have a moment to talk about our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?’

It was a particularly un-busy December afternoon at the station, and he had apparently been chosen as Spencer’s distraction of choice.   
“No,” Carlton said, typing angrily at his computer keyboard. 

A hand fluttered to Shawn’s chest, as if clutching invisible pearls. 

“No time for Jesus? His birthday is next week and everything!”

“No time for your immaturity, Spencer. Crime doesn’t stop for the holidays.”

Shawn brushed off the comeback easily.

“I’ll have to send you his Amazon wishlist. I already bought him the frankincense though. And I think myrrh just went out of stock.”

Carlton stared.

“Get back to work.”

“Doing what, exactly?”

“Whatever you do.” Carlton waved a vague hand. “And do it somewhere else.”

“Fine.” Shawn sighed overdramatically. “Can I borrow a pen?”

“I can literally see a pen clipped to your shirt pocket.”

“Ah, but Lassiefras, your pens are far superior to mine.”’   
Carlton gritted his teeth and handed Spencer a ballpoint pen. He pouted. Carlton tried very hard not to stare at his mouth.   
“A gel pen, pretty please. Purple, if you have it.”   
Carlton rummaged through his cup of pens and plucked out a sparkly purple one that he didn’t know he had. When he handed it over, Spencer’s fingers brushed against his palm.

“Thanks,” he said, winking.   
“Please, Shawn,” Carlton said, clearing his throat. “I’m busy.”   
“Ouch. You wound me. And to think that all I wanted for Christmas was you.”   
The jab went straight to his heart, sharp as a Cupid’s arrow. The phone rang, blissfully, and Carlton hid his blush behind the receiver.   
“Head Detective Lassiter speaking,” he growled into the phone, and Shawn snorted.

“You’re so Grinchy. Jules, play Mele Kalikimaka.”

It took a pineapple smoothie and Juliet’s half-hearted promise of ordering a sprig of mistletoe for the annual holiday party to distract Shawn from Lassiter’s desk.

***

The unofficial holiday party, held a week before the official party at the station, involved a lot of heavy drinking at the local bar. Shawn was drowning himself up to the ears in liquor, and coincidentally, so was Carlton. 

“You two have fun!” O’Hara grinned and waved a goodbye, heading out to greet her taxi.

She was barely tipsy, but had developed an irrational fear of getting white-girl-wasted ever since her college days. Recently she’d been cutting their celebratory nights short, leaving Carlton to babysit Shawn. 

After she left, Spencer downed another drink and suggested a round of karaoke. 

One earsplitting and unsurprisingly dramatic rendition of Katy Perry’s  _ Teenage Dream _ and two more undone shirt buttons later, Carlton was sitting next to a very drunk Shawn Spencer. 

Gus announced that he was going home to take a well-deserved dose of headache medicine; everyone’s ears were ringing from Shawn’s falsetto.

“See ya, buddy,” Spencer said, and pulled Gus into a clumsy hug, clinging to him until he pulled away, embarrassed.

He was clearly a touchy drunk. Carlton stared at the way his hands and lips moved and pictured them trailing over his body. He blinked, shaking the image from his head. God. He needed to get laid.

The taste of whiskey stung on Carlton’s tongue as he knocked back his next shot, and Spencer whistled, long and low. 

“Nice, Lassie.”

The bartender slid Shawn a obnoxiously colored drink and he pretended not to stare as Spencer licked the sugar from his cocktail, tongue sweeping widely around the rim of his glass.

“Do you always do that?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Spencer said, tongue darting out to lap up a stray fleck of sugar that had made its way to the corner of his mouth, and Carlton felt very hot all of a sudden. “Mr. Three Creams Four Sugars doesn’t lick the rim?”

“Don’t phrase it like that,” Carlton said, before he could stop himself.

“Is that your version of ‘that’s what she said?’" Spencer said, incredulous, and laughed, snorting adorably into his drink.

They were sitting far too close together for two men who were supposed rivals, but Carlton chose to allow it. Spencer smelled like good cologne, or maybe Old Spice. (He was much too drunk to tell the difference, and what did it matter anyway?)

“Lassie,” Spencer murmured, savoring the fruity dregs of his drink. “Sassy Lassie, dear, sweet Lassie, what do you say we make like a tree and go fuck in your car?”

Carlton nearly choked on air.

“Shawn,” he hissed. “Shh. You’re drunk.”

“And I saw your Grindr profile,” Shawn argued, and then a distracted smile melted onto his face. “You called me Shawn.”

“What? I don’t have a--”

“The powers that be call bullshit. I’d recognize that chest hair anywhere.”

“Don’t tell…” Carlton lowered his voice. “Don’t tell anyone at the station. Please.”

“Of course not,” Spencer said honestly, then grinned, lopsided and teasing. “‘S long as you don’t tell my dad I have an account too.”

“I, uh...” Carlton said awkwardly. “I won’t.”

“Good,” Spencer said, catching the straw in between his teeth and loudly sucking at the last few drops of his drink. “But anyway...vers bottom, huh? Funny. I pegged you for a masc for masc top kinda guy. Who’d’ve thunk Head Detective Carlton J. Lassiter likes it up the--”

“Shut up.”

“Would you, though? Would you like it?” Spencer said, the words seemingly flooding from his mouth faster than he could think of them. “You’re hot, Lassie. And I’m pretty great at the whole gay sex thing. Attention to detail, a team player, and plenty of experience. Oh, and I can tie a cherry stem with my tongue on a good day. I’ve been told the trick is to--”

“Stop, Spencer. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“Ah, but Lassie,” Spencer said, sighing. “I do know. I think about it a lot. So much. I jerked off in the police station bathroom once. Hoped you’d come in and kick down the stall door, catch me like that.”

“Public indecency,” Carlton muttered, and Spencer laughs. 

“The way you look is indecent. The way you smell. The way you touch me. I wanna…” he trailed off. “I wanna  _ taste _ , Lassie.”

“Enough, Shawn. Quiet. I’m taking you home.”

“Finally. Is your bed big enough for both of us?”

“To your home.”

“I don’t host very often. Gus isn’t appreciative of Grindr men. Sometimes they stay over for breakfast, and he’s pretty protective of his cinnamon toaster waffles.”

“I’m getting you home safe. And dropping you off. And leaving.”

“Oh,” Spencer said, and his voice was very small all of a sudden, the bravado melting away. “Okay.”

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

“Yeah.” His tone was clouded. “Okay.”

***

They didn’t really speak again until the actual holiday party, with pointed avoidance on both ends. Maybe a half-hearted joke here and there, or a “thank you” after a held door, but otherwise there wasn’t much interaction. 

Fortunately, Jules and Gus were getting very into the whole Christmas spirit thing, and so Shawn played along. He had a strand of red and green lights hung around his neck, and a horridly ugly knitted sweater, and he  _ almost  _ forgot about Lassiter. Almost.

“Kiss, marry, kill!” Shawn crowed, downing his cup of virgin eggnog, and Gus shot him a look. 

“ _ Shawn _ .”

“What? It’s PG-13.”

“Exactly. Emphasis on thirteen. We’re not middle schoolers.”

Shawn shrugged and barrelled into his first question nevertheless.

“Reese Witherspoon in  _ Legally Blonde _ , the Loch Ness Monster, and Alyson Hannigan in  _ Buffy _ .”

“Kiss Willow, marry Elle Woods, kill Nessie,” Gus said immediately.

“You’d kill the last surviving member of an endangered species?”

“You’d kiss a sea monster?”

“Hey, Jules!” Shawn said, breaking free from the conversation to greet his friend. “Did you get the mistletoe?”

“Sure did,” she sighed, pointing in the doorway. “Lassiter’s been avoiding the stuff like Kryptonite.”

“What?” Gus scoffed. “Who would kiss Lassie?”

Shawn cleared his throat extrordinarily loudly.

“I may have been planning on it,” he stage whispered.

“He’s so...” Gus faltered. 

“Blue-eyed, stoic, could probably kill me in under a minute. What’s not to like?”

“If you kiss him, he probably  _ will  _ kill you in under a minute.”

“Oh, but what a way to go,” Shawn said dreamily.

Lassiter was sulking by the punch bowl, nibbling on a Christmas tree-shaped cookie and staring at the mistletoe like it was out to get him.

“Wish me luck,” Shawn announced to his friends, and ducked into the crowd, weaving his way towards Lassiter.

“Hey, sassy Lassie!” he said, and Lassiter dabbed his mouth with a napkin.

“What do you want?”

“Kiss, marry, kill, Lassie. The three dads from  _ Mamma Mia _ , go!”

“Absolutely not.”

“What about me, Jules, and Gus?”

“I’d kill you.”

“Ooh, shots fired. What about the rest?”

“Be professional.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Shawn bit into a cookie and kept talking around a mouthful. “C’mon, you’ve still got to kiss and marry someone.”

“I don’t play games.”

“Bullshit.” He brushed crumbs off of his sweater and crossed his arms in a way he hoped was vaguely menacing. “I’ve seen you play Tetris. And chess. I bet I could kick your ass at Boogle.”

“Boggle.”

“I’ve heard it both ways.”

“O’Hara is my coworker,” Lassiter snapped. “And I’m gay.” That bit came out in a whisper.

“I know that. Vers bottom. I remember,” Shawn said. “And I still get killed in this scenario?”

“I don’t fuck annoying twinks.”

Shawn chuckled softly. Then he leaned in close so that no one else could hear.

“I didn’t offer to fuck you, Lassie. But if it’s on your mind, why not?”

He watched the detective wet his lips.

“Also,” he murmured, “I’m an otter. Google it.”

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!! i appreciate comments, ily


End file.
